


Untraditional

by grantaire (alli_luvv)



Series: For The First Time [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Backstory, Casual hook ups, Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Unrequited Love, kissing in alleys, that's all I can think of right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alli_luvv/pseuds/grantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Grantaire tells Enjolras 'I love you'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untraditional

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely Zoe, the goddess of patience, this is the Grantaire and Enjolras first "I love you" drabble she prompted  
> 3000+ words later and this is what happened  
> I apologize in advance for inconsistencies, a lot of this was written while on a road trip with minimal amounts of sleep

Grantaire was never one for tradition. Most people waited until they were months into a committed relationship before they said “I love you,” but not Grantaire. No, he told Enjolras how he felt before they were even together.

He never really was one for patience.

***

Grantaire and Enjolras met on their first day of university, when Enjolras had accidentally ran into Grantaire on the quad. Grantaire had been sitting on the grass, sketching his roommate, Courfeyrac, who was sitting with his fair haired boyfriend up in a tree. They were whispering sweet nothings to each other, enjoying a private moment on the warm summer day. Grantaire was sketching the scene as a gift for Courfeyrac’s birthday, which was about three weeks after school started.

He put his pencil down momentarily and stared up at the couple, trying to discern the exact shape of Courf’s boyfriend’s nose. He couldn’t remember what the boy’s name was, despite them being introduced less than an hour ago. He knew it began with a J, but he hadn’t exactly been paying attention, as at that moment, he had seen Apollo himself appear across the crowded quad. Grantaire was struck by the way the boy seemed to shine like sunlight, emanating his radiance onto the quad. And he wasn’t entirely sure if it was how much he had to drink, but Grantaire could have sworn that he heard an angelic choir start singing at that moment.

Grantaire shook his head, trying to get the memory of the golden boy out of his mind. He fumbled through his messenger bag, trying to find his trusty flask that he always kept in there, for emergencies. He was going to murder Courfeyrac if he had nicked his flask again. He had, as there was nothing in his bag except for a couple notebooks, his erasers, and an extra pencil. Grantaire angrily set down his bag and picked up his sketchpad again, when he was knocked over by some kid barreling into him.

Grantaire stood up, dusted himself off, and walked over to the blonde boy who was spread eagled on the grass.

“Might wanna watch where you’re going,” he quipped, pulling the boy up. The boy began to dust himself off.

“Sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m Enjolras, by the way. Thanks for helping me up.” The boy, Enjolras, offered his hand to Grantaire, and finally looked up to meet his gaze. Grantaire’s jaw dropped as he stared into the eyes of his golden god.

“Grantaire,” he mumbled, absentmindedly shaking Apollo’s hand, still staring at the boy’s perfect features.

“Are you okay? I hit you kind of hard... Oh no! Did I hit you in the head? Are you concussed? Do you need to see a doctor?” Enjolras babbled, worry creasing his brow. Grantaire laughed.  
“I’m fine, Apollo. It’s nothing a drink couldn’t fix.” From that moment on, Grantaire was hooked. He fell hopelessly, madly in love with the mortal god with the golden voice.

***

He finally told his Apollo how he felt the night before their graduation. Grantaire was afraid that once they left school, and were no longer as actively involved in the Amis, Enjolras would stop putting up with his cynicism and alcoholism and just stop talking to him altogether. And he couldn’t stand to let that happen without at least telling the boy he was in love with him.

He was convinced that on some level, Enjolras already knew. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it. All of their friends had already figured it out long ago. Grantaire spent the majority of his time staring intently at his own personal sun, not caring if he went blind. If Enjolras’s face was the last thing he ever saw, he wouldn’t mind. But men who fly too close to the sun will always get burnt, and Grantaire was the kind of person who lived to push boundaries. He endured nearly the full force of Enjolras’s quick temper, yet he still pushed and poked, taunting the man with cynicism, mocking his Apollo’s ideals, because he thought it was the only way he could catch his attention.

The Amis had met up at their favorite bar, the Musain, for one last night together before they graduated and had to go their separate ways. Grantaire was slightly less drunk than usual. He wanted to remember that night.

Courfeyrac somehow managed to convince Enjolras to have a beer, and the blonde boy was well on his way to being completely wasted when he was only halfway through the bottle. Grantaire was in his usual seat in the corner, nursing his second beer. He barely felt the buzz, but he wasn’t looking for liquid courage that night. He took one last sip from his bottle, more out of force of habit than anything else, stood up, and made his way over to the table where Enjolras sat.

“Hey,” he began, resting a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” The blonde lifted his head with a groan, biting his lip and mumbling, “M’sorry,” when he saw the hurt look in Grantaire’s eyes. He blinked dazedly, absentmindedly rubbing his hand on the nape of his neck and gesturing for Grantaire to sit down with the other hand.

“What’s the matter?” Enjolras slurred, thoroughly intoxicated. Grantaire sighed. He knew this would probably be his last chance to tell him, but Enjolras probably wouldn’t remember a word he said once he was sober again.

“Nothing. You know what? Forget I even said anything. I’m cutting you off, lightweight.” He pulled the bottle from Enjolras’s hand, swallowing the remainder of its contents in one go. Jehan shot him a worried look from his usual perch on Courfeyrac’s lap. Jehan was the one that Grantaire always went to for advice. Jehan was the only one Grantaire had told about his plan to confess his feelings to Enjolras. Grantaire shook his head bitterly and stalked off to where Bahorel, Eponine, and Montparnasse sat.

"Tough night?" Bahorel questioned Grantaire, handing him a fresh bottle. Grantaire shook his head and pushed the beer away.

"Not thirsty," he mumbled. Bahorel shrugged.

"More for me, then. But it's not like you to turn down a free drink. Grantaire, whats wrong?"

"None of your fucking business," he growled. A hurt look flashed across Bahorel's features, and Grantaire felt guilty for being so rude. Bahorel pushed back his chair, snatched the bottle off the table, and left to go talk to Feuilly. Eponine let out a dry chuckle.

"Someone's in a bad mood tonight." Grantaire shot her a withering glare.

"Bugger off, Eponine. No one fucking asked you!" She smirked.

"Did Enj finally tell you to piss off?"

"Shut up, Ep. You're one to talk." Her smile vanished at his retort, and her gaze flicked over to where Marius and Cosette were wrapped around each other. Montparnasse let out a low whistle.

"That was a low blow, Taire. Even for you," he observed. Eponine stuck her tongue out at the two boys and got up.

"I don't care," she proclaimed, and proved it by plopping down in Combeferre's lap, planting a kiss on his lips. The studious boy reddened in shock, but kissed back passionately. Montparnasse laughed before releasing a wolf whistle.

"Get it, you two!" Grantaire glared at him, but Montparnasse just laughed, unfazed.

"Well, what is it tonight? Why do you require my services?" Montparnasse queried. Grantaire flushed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he retorted. Montparnasse just grinned.

"Let me guess, the statue turned you down?" Grantaire glared at him.

"If we are being technical, he didn't turn me down. I never gave him a chance to."

"And why would that be? You've only been pining over him for four years."

"Even if I told him how I felt, it wouldn't make a difference. Why would he ever love me back?" Grantaire slumped down on the table. Montparnasse reached across the table, gently resting his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"There's a lot more to you than you think, Grantaire. Why do you think I'm willing to mess around with you when Enjolras breaks your heart? I don't do that for just anyone, you know." Grantaire peeked up at Montparnasse.

"What?"

"I care about you."

"Why?" Grantaire asked. Montparnasse opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again as he noticed the person who had come to stand behind Grantaire. Grantaire turned to glare at whoever it was. His jaw dropped when he caught Enjolras's gaze.

“Montparnasse, d’you mind if I borrow Grantaire for a minute? I need to talk to him, alone.” Enjolras appeared to be a good deal more sober, and Grantaire assumed that Combeferre had probably convinced him to eat something and switch to coffee as his beverage of choice. Montparnasse nodded and stood up, shooting Grantaire a significant look.

“That’s fine, we were done talking anyways. Remember what I said, Grantaire.” Enjolras sat down across the table from Grantaire. The cynic drained the glass Montparnasse left behind while Enjolras began to speak.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me earlier?” Grantaire just shook his head. Enjolras was still drunk enough to not remember their conversation in the morning, even if he was considerably less drunk than he was when Grantaire first tried to talk to him.

“It’s not important, Enjolras. Please, leave me alone.”

“Clearly it is important! If it wasn’t so important, you wouldn’t be this upset.”

“I’m not upset!” Grantaire yelled. His cheeks colored as he realized he had just proved Enjolras right. Scowling, he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his chair so that he was turned away from his Apollo.

Enjolras reached across the table and gently placed a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, turning him back around so they were facing each other once more.

“Grantaire, please tell me what it is!” he pleaded. Grantaire just shook his head and looked away from the worried look on Enjolras’s face. He couldn’t say it, he couldn’t tell Enjolras how in love with him he was, how he’d pined over him for four years, and he didn’t care if Enjolras already sort of knew, he just couldn’t say it.

Enjolras lifted his hand from Grantaire’s shoulder, resting it on his cheek. He offered the cynic a reassuring smile that seemed to say ‘It’s okay, you can tell me. I won’t judge you for whatever it is, I promise.’ Grantaire frowned. That just made this so much harder.

Grantaire may have been a cynic, but he allowed himself one single optimistic hope, and that was that Enjolras might one day love him back. And he clung to that hope with fierce desperation. It was the only thing he had left. He just couldn't let it go.

"It doesn't matter, it was stupid. Now please, just leave me alone." Grantaire's voice cracked and he stood to get up, to take his vices and his problems and his unrequited love and walk away, to walk right out of Enjolras's life. The boy would be better off without him anyway.

"No! Grantaire, something's upsetting you! Please just tell me what it is so I can help you fix it!" Enjolras grasped his wrist with a vice-like grip, pulling him back down into his seat. Grantaire wrenched his arm out of Enjolras's hand, fury rising in his chest.

"You wanna know what's upsetting me? Fine! I'll tell you! I've been hopelessly, head over heels in love with you for four fucking years, and you can barely put up with me. You're the golden god of sun and I'm not even fit to be the dirt beneath your feet. Happy? I love you! But I'm so fucked up that you've barely given me the time of day! You can't fix this problem, Enjolras! I'm the problem. You can't fucking fix me! And I don't want you to! I just wanted you to look past my problems, just once, and maybe give me a chance. I know I don't deserve that, I never have. But I thought, maybe, you would do that. You care so much about everything that I guess I thought hey! Maybe he'll care about me, at least a little. But I guess I was wrong." Grantaire exploded in a fit of rage, the whole confession spilling out. Enjolras looked as if he had been slapped across the face. He never even thought that Grantaire cared about him in the slightest, which had always stung for reasons he didn't know or understand. He never treated the cynic well because of that.

Enjolras felt like the world's biggest asshole. Grantaire was in love with him? And had been for four years? How had he missed that? He was ordinarily so perceptive. In his opinion, at least. Most of his friends thought he was a bit of a blockhead when it came to matters of emotion. That was probably how he had managed to never notice Grantaire’s feelings for him. He opened his mouth, trying to put some of the jumbled mess of thoughts running through his brain into an articulate sentence, but he couldn’t find words to properly express the way he was feeling. Grantaire stood up again, a pained and distraught expression on his face.

“That’s what I thought. Goodbye Enjolras. I promise I’ll never bother you with my cynicism, disbelief, and unrequited love for you ever again.” He walked away from the boy he’d been so certain was the love of his life, biting his lip in a valiant effort to keep from breaking down and sobbing where he stood. Enjolras’s heart shattered into a million pieces as he watched his cynic, his disbeliever, his obverse, the thorn in his side for the past four years walk away from him. It felt like a part of himself was walking out the door with Grantaire. Why? Why did it hurt him so much to see the person who had provoked him into a passionate rage on so many occasions walk away?

“Shit!” Enjolras cried as everything clicked into place in his mind. He jumped up, and raced off in the direction Grantaire had gone.

***

“Fuck,” Grantaire muttered, sliding down the wall of the alley next to the Musain. He finally gave into the tears that had been trying to fight their way past his eyelids ever since Enjolras had stared up at him with that blank look, silently. That had not gone as planned. He buried his face in his palms.

Why couldn’t he ever get anything right? Why did he always have to fuck up the things that were most important to him? Why did he always have to get so fucking mad whenever Enjolras was involved?

***

Enjolras burst through the front doors of the Musain, looking around frantically for Grantaire. His drunken mind only possessed one thought, ‘Have to find him, need to tell him.’ He couldn’t see the boy anywhere in either direction.

“Fuck!” he cried, hitting the brick wall in frustration. He stood there for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts and dispel some of the drunken fog encompassing his brain. That’s when he heard it. It sounded like a child crying softly in the distance. His heart filled with more hope than he would care to admit, and he took off in the direction of the sound.

***

Grantaire was curled in on himself, knees tucked up into his chest, arms wrapped around them tightly, head buried in knees, crying softly, so he didn’t hear the sound of quiet footsteps approaching.

Enjolras appeared in the mouth of the alley, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Grantaire. He looked like a child whose whole world had come crumbling down in one instant. And it was all his fault.

He ran over to Grantaire, dropped to his knees beside him, and pulled him into his arms in a soul crushing hug. Grantaire sniffled and looked up, his eyes growing wide as he processed who it was.

“I don’t hate you, Grantaire. I could never hate you.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel bad.” Grantaire looked away. Enjolras pressed his palm to Grantaire’s cheek, forcing the cynic to return his earnest stare.

“I’m not.” And to prove it, Enjolras did the one thing he’d been longing to do since that fateful day on the quad when he’d run into Grantaire. The one thing that he had spent the past four years pretending he didn’t fantasize about every night before he fell asleep. The one thing that Enjolras wanted to do most in the world, but had spent the past four years denying it to everyone, even himself, to the point where he himself no longer recognized it for what it was.

He pressed his lips to Grantaire’s and kissed him with all the passion that his cynic inspired in him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think. I've been toying with the idea of writing more in this verse if this is well received. Let me know if that is something you would like.


End file.
